


Way Down, Your Soul is Weighed Down

by RushingHeadlong



Category: Rock Music RPF
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, Morgan (Band) - Freeform, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RushingHeadlong/pseuds/RushingHeadlong
Summary: Tim finds himself wondering if he’s really happy with where he’s ended up in life while he’s on tour with Morgan.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Tim Staffell Appreciation Weekend 2021





	Way Down, Your Soul is Weighed Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tim Staffell Appreciation Weekend 2021. Title from “Fire in the Head” by Morgan.
> 
> Based (loosely) on a story Tim told in one interview about being on tour with Morgan and realizing that he actually hates touring, especially when there wasn’t any money to make it a comfortable experience.

Tim stares out the hotel window, through the downpour of rain and across the grey and dingy carpark, and wonders what the hell he’s doing with his life. 

It’s a thought that he’s used to having in the middle of the night, when he’s lying awake staring at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom or else tossing and turning on a friend’s couch while he tries to get comfortable even with a spring digging into his back. It’s a thought that’s usually accompanied by worries about his finances, that fear that he’ll never be able to afford to move into his own place or else the low anxiety over not being able to chip in for groceries or bills with his parents that month. 

It’s not a thought that he’s used to having in the middle of the afternoon while he’s on tour with a band that just released their first album. 

Not that Tim has any idea where his bandmates even are right now. Mo and Bob had taken off not long after they arrived at the hotel, despite the fact that it’s pissing rain outside and there’s nothing to do around here anyway. Morgan might still be around but he’s been in a mood about his solo album, somehow both excited about recording it when they get back to Rome and filled with a deep loathing every time he tries to put one of his ideas to paper. Even if Tim actually felt like socializing right now, he’s not sure he’s willing to endure those sorts of mood swings just for a bit of company. 

But if Tim is being truthful he’s not often in the mood to seek out of the company of his bandmates, even when everyone is in high spirits and the weather is on their side. He doesn’t hate them, far from it, in fact. He enjoys working with them well enough in the studio and when they’re creating music together. There’s just no escaping the fact the other three have known each other for years, and Tim is the newcomer here. He’s just not close to the rest of the band, and Tim finds himself missing Smile and his friendships with Brian and Roger more and more frequently these days. 

He misses when touring was fun. The long hours driving out to Cornwall with Smile were always lightened by the presence of their friends crowded in the van alongside them, the whole trip treated more like a mini vacation than anything else. He misses following his friends home to Ferry Road and crashing on their couch after shows, waking up late and hungover and still loving every second of it. Even if Smile wasn’t going anywhere Tim finds that he misses the _comfort_ he had with that band, in a way that he never thought he would. 

“I hate this,” Tim says aloud to the empty room around him, and it doesn’t feel as much like a lie as he was hoping it would. 

He loves playing with Morgan, but the hates the sheer _ordeal_ of touring. He hates spending long days on the road, hates the tedious soundchecks and the hours spent wrestling with their equipment. He hates the shitty hotels that they’re forced to stay in, because there isn’t the money for anything better and with the album selling poorly there isn’t likely to be more money any time soon. 

He hates the way that these water-stained walls seem to close in around him. He hates the lumpy beds that are always uncomfortable and too cold, even on the rare nights that Tim finds a bed-partner to bring back with him. He hates how _lonely_ he is, how even when he finds someone to take back to the hotel or when he’s actually hanging out with his bandmates there’s still a sense of isolation that he can’t quite shake off. 

Tim isn’t happy, at least not on tour like this. It’s better when they’re performing in London because he can at least sleep at home when the shows is over, but home is still with his parents and Tim can’t say that he’s happy about that either. 

So what does make him happy, then? Making music, of course, but it’s not like Morgan is the sort of project he thought he’d end up in when he left Smile. Will he still be happy in a prog rock band a year from now? Two years? _Five?_ How long can he tour like this before the misery and isolation starts to drive him crazy?

And even if they start making enough money so that they can tour in relative comfort, how long will he be happy working on music that’s about as far from his preferences as he can possibly get? As much as he loves playing with Morgan, he still misses the improvisational blues and funk that he fell in love with in America. He has a casual offer to play with Jonathan Kelly again anytime that he wants - and, _god_ , does he want to do that - but he also doesn’t want to lose the songwriting freedom that he has with Morgan’s music either. 

Is every decision he’s forced to make with his career just going to be a series of unideal compromises, each one chipping away a little bit more at his true dreams and desires until he can’t even remember why he wanted to devote his life to music in the first place?

“Fucking snap out of it,” he mutters at himself as he turns away from the window. That’s fucking maudlin, even for him.

It’s just the weather making him testy and miserable, he tells himself as he digs half a joint out of his bag and double-checks that he has both his room key and a lighter in his pocket. A few hits and some fresh air will do him good, even with the rain still coming down outside. Get a little bit high now, get these thoughts out of his head, and by soundcheck he’ll be fine again. 

He’ll be fine. He might not know what he’s doing with his life, he might not have any of the answers that he wishes he had, but it will all be _fine_ in the end - because Tim refuses to accept any other possibility here.


End file.
